


Alone Together

by Macbetha



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 15:23:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15866370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macbetha/pseuds/Macbetha
Summary: Makoto smiles at him and not even when the world was alive did anyone ever look at Haru with such happiness in his existence alone.In which Haru is perfectly settled into a life of solidarity when he runs into a group of survivors with a baby, a dynamic duo of a couple who can't aim worth hell, and a boy whose eyes hold the last bit of goodness in the world.





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> hey there! welcome to another episode of "i've been thinking about this au for months and spontaneously wrote the first chapter in one sitting." hope you enjoy. 
> 
> so this is going to be a short project - i considered just making this a one shot, but it should only be about four chapters at the most. i'm currently studying gothic literature @ uni so i wanted to practice writing those types of elements for a quick little project. 
> 
> thank you a lot and i hope you like!

* * *

 Haru always liked driving; it’s one of the few situations in which he isn’t expected to contribute to conversations, and after a few years of practice, focusing on the road requires less and less attention. It gives him time to think, to ponder. Not that many things particularly fascinate him, but he’s always appreciated the silence of an empty cab at the very least. He likes being alone – that hasn’t changed.  
  
Haru veers the car off the road and parks at a look-out on the edge of the mountain. He steps out of the vehicle and winces as his ears pop in the altitude, an ache festering in his sinuses. His skin is balmy with fever-dew and his fingers tremble from one too many ailments, but it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with for the past year.  
  
Haru flattens a road map over the car hood. He’s lucky that whoever abandoned this vehicle was prepared for the worst – inside was this map and a full case of crackers. He found this old Honda in a parking deck a few cities over. Maybe the owners were killed; maybe they went scavenging and were coming back to the car. Haru doesn’t know and he doesn’t really care. He’s numb to such guilt nowadays.  
  
He checks over the map and pencils in a route _around_ Mito, rather than through it. People tend to flock toward the cities and Haru has no business trying to converse his way into joining a group. He plans on heading toward the suburbs, since people only pass through there to forage and rarely linger, so naturally, that’s where he plans on hunkering down for as long as he can.  
  
He rolls up the map before shouldering his rifle and backpack to head down the forest slope and try to find a river of some sort. He has no such luck but it’s still early, so there’s enough morning dew pooled in tree stumps for him to scoop up in his canteen to filter out and boil later tonight. There’s no point in even trying to hunt because he _hates_ this bolt-action rifle. It jams, he has to take the safety off just to move the bolt, and he’s just too lazy to deal with it even as badly as he needs more food.  
  
Thankfully, he finds some creeper berries underfoot and Haru chews them up while trekking back to the car. He licks the stickiness off his knuckles and sucks the fruit juice out from under his fingernails as he rounds the car, but he pauses at a weak growl.  
  
Haru blinks calmly, his heartbeat as level as ever while he ventures around the vehicle. A figure slumps over the trunk, drooling saliva from his askew jaw, his teeth so rotten that they look like tree bark. His hair is matted with grease and his tattered flannel hangs off his naked shoulder; the skin is washed grey with death.  
  
The corpse wouldn’t smell so bad if it weren’t for the time of year. Summer only means one thing nowadays: the stench of rotting flesh will thrive in the heat with saturated vigor, a reminder that the air will never sing with laughter again.

The corpse gives another frustrated, broken snarl and rolls his gaze to Haru, his body so depleted that it can barely take the motion of his skull – and that’s what he has. Not a proper _head,_ not a face, just a skull with a thin pull of skin over bone. His irises are white with infection, the waterlines crusted with dirt, but Haru can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy in his chest.  
  
He sighs and nudges the zombie backward with his rifle. “Come on, there’s nothing to eat here and you know it.” The creature staggers away, flailing for balance before tumbling to the ground. Haru winces; he didn’t mean to do that but the corpse doesn’t appear to care either way. He claws uselessly at the dirt and gargles almost – _pleadingly._ His cries are rent with such yearning that in the back of his mind, Haru has a hard time believing that flesh is the only thing the being yearns for.  
  
He flops into the cab and sits there, considering. With a hard shake of his head, Haru twists the key in the ignition and looks in the rearview at the zombie. He twists the wheel just so and floors the car into reverse, squeezing his eyes shut as he does so.  
  
The car bounces, tires screaming over a startled, _frightened_ cry, then there’s dead silence. Haru finds himself heaving as blackbirds chirp happily through the mountain. He wipes his forehead, itchy dust liquefying into his sweat before he heads down the road and doesn’t look back.  
  
It just isn’t fair to be hungry, especially in death.

* * *

 Of course the road is blocked.  
  
Haru rubs his temple as he stares out the windshield at the sea of abandoned vehicles. Wandering corpses bake in the heat of the day, their skin bubbling with sunburn. He fumes a sigh and packs his bag before shouldering it with his rifle and leaving the car behind. He takes out his map again to consider his options. It’ll take him a week to bypass Mito on foot; he has no choice but to venture into the city and try to find another car there, and hopefully a road that isn’t overgrown. But it’s fucking hot and he really doesn’t want to deal with people; Mito’s bound to be ravaged with dozens of groups fighting for authority.  
  
He sighs. Whatever, maybe there’s a pool at one of the hotels.  
  
Haru looks through a few cars every now and then mainly because he’s so bored. His hoodie is caked in dried squirrel guts so he switches it out for a dusty bomber jacket and trades his sandals for a pair of Timberlands off a corpse that’s melted into the burning asphalt. He peeks into a crashed SUV and sags in relief when he finds a stocked first aid kit. He dry swallows a handful of ibuprofen and trugs on while nibbling a few crackers; the occasional zombie glances up at him, scrunching their hollow stumps for noses before they continue their aimless wandering.  
  
The walk doesn’t get interesting until a herd of deer launches over the sea of cars, smashing hoods and windshields as a hoard chases them. Haru watches in vague interest, not rooting for either party in particular, but then a gunshot pierces the air and he jams under a truck faster than the next breath. He’s panting all at once with the acidic taste of fear swimming up his throat. He swallows hard, nails cutting into his palms as footsteps venture closer.  
  
Someone walks by the truck with a heavy gait – it’s a man, his calves burly with muscle and his boots wide as trashcan lids. The distinct shape of a shotgun casts an intimidating shadow over the pavement. Sweat drips off Haru’s nose, a swarm of ants tickling his ankles before eating at his skin.  
  
The man sweeps around as another figure approaches – his legs are leaner with a ingrained saunter and he gives a high laugh. “Asahi got a buck!" He snorts. "It only took him six shots, and it’s kind of small but whatever, I am _starving._ ”  
  
“Good,” the man sighs, voice deep with a natural warmth. “We need to get out of here before the hoard catches up, can Asahi shoulder the deer on his own?”  
  
“Oh, for sure,” the second guy says. Haru tenses at a high squeal and the guy sighs. “Yes, yes, I know you’re grumpy and cooped up in this sling, Tsukushi, but it’s just for a little while longer. We’re going to the big city to find some medicine for you, doesn’t that sound nice?”  
  
The baby just bawls and Haru _reels_ because he’s never seen a baby out here before – at least not for very long. The guy mutters, “Here, you’re all tangled up in this sling, let’s put you down for a second, yeah?”  
  
The first man stammers, “Kisumi, I don’t think –”  
  
“Just let me fix this sling, Makoto, he’ll be fine,” the second guy – Kisumi – responds.  
  
Kisumi sets down a diaper bag and a revolver before plopping the baby down right in front of Haru. Tsukushi’s eyes are swollen with exhaustion, his bib a wet mess from his runny nose, but thankfully he’s got on a little cap to shield his face from the blazing sun. He suckles his fist and hiccups a sob; he’s obviously sick and weeks past a good nap.  
  
Tsukushi glances to the side and Haru freezes under his stare. He shakes his head pleadingly, _like that will do anything,_ but just as the baby starts to point at him, Kisumi bends down to cup his chubby face and pecks a loud kiss against his forehead. “Brave boy,” he coos, smearing away the dirt on his cheeks. “I love you so, _so_ much, did you know that? Huh?” He tickles his fingers under Tsukushi’s arms, delightfully cooing, “Yeah, you already knew?”    
  
The baby beams up at Kisumi simply because he’s there and Haru’s heart seizes in his chest. He hasn’t seen such a look of innocent adoration in God knows how long.  
  
Haru shrinks further under the truck as a third man jogs over. “Got it,” he grunts, shifting his stance to adjust what Haru assumes is the buck over his shoulders. “Thanks for watching our backs, Makoto – hell, I think Tsukushi’s a better shot than Kisumi is.”  
  
“Cute,” Kisumi drones.  
  
"Aiming a basketball just ain't the same as aiming a gun, babe."   
  
Makoto chuckles tightly with anxiousness. “It’s nothing Asahi, but we really should go. The hospital that last group mentioned shouldn’t be far from here; people tend to take refuge in places like that, so hopefully we’ll get lucky and find someone that can help Tsukushi.”  
  
This Makoto has a foolish amount of optimism. Haru knows first-hand to stay far away from places where people congregate.  
  
Asahi laughs heartily as the baby hugs his leg and beams up at him. “Yeah, Kushi, I got a big deer all for you. We’ll clean these antlers and make you some more chew toys for those mean ole teeth trying to come in, how’s that sound?”  
  
Tsukushi giggles just as bullets sing through the air.  
  
Haru snaps into a ball with adrenaline setting him on fire. Makoto falls to his knees with a red river pouring down his thigh and he garbles a wordless cry of primal fear – there’s no expression like the dawning horror of knowing you’re about to die and Haru’s insides run cold at the sight.  
  
Kisumi cries Makoto’s name and scrambles to yank him up, frantically clawing at his shirt all to no avail. Asahi flings the deer off his shoulders and dives in front of Tsukushi, trigger clicking on nothing as the baby wails. Tsukushi tugs at Asahi, at Kisumi, at anyone that will hold him safe against their chest.  
  
Asahi’s arm flies out in a red spray and the force of the shot slams him to the ground. Kisumi lets out another gut-deep yell and Haru’s never witnessed someone’s entire world fall apart in a single minute, not like this. Makoto’s already drained pale with bloody teeth as he chatters, “K-Kisumi, _go,_ g-go with Tsukushi.”  
  
Kisumi screams with his whole heart, _“Like hell we’re leaving y—”  
  
_ Something crashes through a car windshield a few lanes over and Haru’s heart lurches in sickening realization. He throws his arms over his head just as the car flies apart from the grenade and heat blasts him, organs twisting with the shaking earth. The day falls dark with smoke and the moaning of the dead is invigorated in the distance. Makoto coughs up debris and wheezes, “Go, l-leave me.” _  
  
“No,_ Makoto,” Kisumi sobs but Asahi’s already scooped the baby up, his wounded arm swinging with such dead uselessness that Haru’s stomach churns at the sight.  
  
Makoto looks relieved at Asahi’s resolution and Asahi’s face twists with grief, voice spewing out. “I love you, brother.”

Makoto smiles faintly, eyes rolling closed, and Haru watches the duo take off through the maze of cars with Tsukushi wailing all the way.  
  
Corpses spill over vehicles, crawling over each other in a desperate race to chase the scent of flesh. Makoto scrambles against the truck as a zombie staggers toward him with a downright _victorious_ snarl. The way Makoto’s weeping and begging with a face full of tears, _fuck,_ Haru just – he doesn’t know _what to do._ The corpses won’t mess with him but there’s _people_ lurking on the highway, they have guns and grenades and –  
  
Makoto’s too weak to reach up and open the truck door; he crashes to the asphalt and Haru’s never seen a man so large curl into himself like a frightened child. Distantly, he realizes that everyone’s a child in the face of death: blindly not knowing what to grasp, only reassured by the comfort of touch, of warmth.  
  
Of help.  
  
_“No, no, no,_ please, _please,”_ Makoto gasps, babbling to the sky, reaching out to whatever god will find him in the chaos.  
  
Haru crawls out from under the truck and Makoto shouts in alarm, frantically swatting at him – he probably thinks Haru’s undead but giving him one flat look has Makoto freezing to the bone. “Who – who’re –”  
  
The corpse lurches for Makoto and Haru shoves her away by the head, sending her crashing into a minivan. She continues wandering in the direction he pushed her in and Makoto breaks out in a petrified sweat. The distant shouting of blood-thirsty humans nears closer and Haru opens the truck door, hissing, _“Get the fuck in.”_  
  
Makoto just stares, half in shock from blood loss and half sure that he’s lost in a delusion. Haru yanks Makoto’s arm over his shoulder and shoves him into the cab – Makoto stammers when Haru climbs over him to tumble into the passenger’s seat but Makoto gathers his wits just enough to close the door and lock it. They hunker down in their seats and Makoto cowers each time a corpse slams against the window. Haru mumbles, “It’s okay. They’ll protect us.”  
  
Makoto’s head whips around, face twisted in incredulous horror. “You’re crazy,” he breathes, bloodshot eyes crazed with the realization. “You’re out of your –” He hisses through gritted teeth and grabs his thigh in a fit of pain, blood spilling between his fingers.  
  
Haru leans over and swats Makoto’s hands away to inspect the wound. “The bullet just grazed you.” How dramatic. He shrugs off his backpack to open up his first aid kit and gives an impatient gesture. “Take your pants off.”  
  
Makoto flushes hard, shrinking away. “H-Huh?”  
  
Haru’s pulse beats fast with awkward embarrassment but he doesn’t let it show. “Either you can keep asking dumb questions and bleed out or you can shut up and do as I say. Personally, I don’t care which.” He inwardly grimaces at that. “But you need to choose now.”  
  
Makoto swallows. He glances out the windshield as the undead make a ruckus among the fading catastrophe of bullets, then he unbuttons his jeans. He looks everywhere but Haru and Haru busies himself by fraying some thread from his jacket and breaks off a needle from a clean syringe in the first aid kit.  
  
He goes to wipe off Makoto’s thigh with antiseptic and pushes his boxers up but pauses when he notices a tattoo on his thigh. It’s a black outline of orange blossoms clustered around a bottle. Haru feels a prickle of curiosity but doesn’t care enough to ask about it, so he starts to clean the wound. Makoto gasps at every swipe of the cotton ball, kneading his forehead against the window. His features contort with such dread that Haru reaches into his backpack to shove a flask at him. “Drink that.”  
  
Makoto fumbles with the flask and babbles, “What – what is it?”  
  
Haru shrugs. “Old and strong.”  
  
He blanches at that but one slide of the needle through his skin has him chugging the alcohol as fast as he can. After that, Makoto stops talking – he stills gives the occasional hiss and frantic huff, but Haru’s thankful for the quiet. He hasn’t talked to another soul in months and _that_ wasn’t even this much. He kind of wants to throw up and sleep for a week after this ordeal, but he manages to finish up and bandage Makoto’s wound without falter.  
  
They sit in silence, glazed with sweat as the stench of blood and body odor festers in the heat. Makoto stares up at the cab ceiling, face ashen with tears and disbelieving relief. Barely audible, he whispers, “Thank you.” He gazes at Haru fully, piercing him with so much sincerity that Haru can’t even move. “Thank you so much.”  
  
Haru’s mouth falls open before it snaps shut. He nods once and turns his gaze to the ash raining down the windshield. “Here,” Makoto rasps, gingerly sitting up to shoulder off his bag. His fingers shake around the zippers but he manages to pry them open for a water bottle. “I don’t have much, but –” He shrugs before his voice deepens earnestly. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”  
  
Haru stares at the bottle with quickening breath. “Do you have any more?”  
  
“Yeah, like, four bottles.”  
  
Haru snatches it up and chugs the water in a flat minute, heaving in satisfaction when he finishes. Makoto chews his lip, eyes darting away. “All I have to eat is dog food, but if you want it –”  
  
Haru snorts. “I have dog meat, I’m fine.”  
  
Makoto blinks at that before clearing his throat and settling back in his seat. He picks at a rip in his jeans like he can’t stand the quiet. “I’m ah – my name’s Makoto, by the way.”  
  
Haru gives him a look as he folds his ankles over the dashboard. “Okay.”  
  
Makoto quirks a shy smirk. “You don’t have a name?”  
  
“Not like it matters anymore.”  
  
He lifts his brows. “Then it shouldn’t matter if you tell it.”  
  
Nervousness flitters through Haru’s limbs and he flexes his ankle to feel the reassuring press of his knife holster against his calf.  
  
Haru might be good at concealing his emotions but Makoto seems to read people very well, for he physically backs off. “Sorry, I’m not –” He quickly shakes his head. “I’m not trying to be weird, I just…” He glances away with such a sad laugh that something heavy tightens in Haru’s spine. “I haven’t talked to anyone else in so long, I’m sorry.”  
  
_It’s okay,_ Haru wants to say. He doesn’t. “You were with a group,” he mutters instead.  
  
“God, I hope they’re okay,” Makoto whispers to himself, gazing out the window with longing. He flinches back when a corpse drags a bloody hand across the glass. “Those people have been chasing us for days. They ambushed our camp the other night but they didn’t try to take our supplies, they just started shooting at us.”  
  
Haru nods in understanding. “They were probably trying to eat you.” Cannibalism isn’t a rarity when food is as scarce as it is now.  
  
Makoto closes his eyes, gripping his stomach. “Yeah, I thought that too, but I didn’t wanna say anything to Asahi or Kisumi about it.” He smiles faintly with memory. “They have their hands full with Tsukushi.”  
  
Haru shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have a baby out here.”  
  
Makoto arches a brow. “We don’t really have a choice. Especially since he got sick last week. I think it’s allergies.”  
  
Haru doesn’t voice an apology, but he considers it. Instead, he mumbles, “They won’t find anyone at the hospital. Nobody but cannibals and other groups that’ll just want their weapons.”  
  
Makoto nods. “You’re probably right.” Haru faces him in confusion and Makoto gives a little smile. “A baby itself is a miracle nowadays, yeah? Finding medicine is nothing in comparison.”  
  
Haru turns away at that. Kisumi and Asahi have to be dead by now – if not by bullets then by the dead swarming the city from the commotion. And Tsukushi –  
  
He lets out his breath in a rush, white flashes striking his vision at the thought. Makoto straightens nervously. “Are you okay?”  
  
Haru’s jaw tightens enough for his eyes to burn. “A baby shouldn’t be out here.”  
  
Makoto doesn’t respond but his silence holds bitter understanding.  
  
Haru quickly grows restless with frustration and busies himself by looking through the car. By absolute chance, he finds the keys under some trash in the floorboard and they blast the air conditioner until they’re shivering. “God,” Makoto laughs, face alight with joy. “I forgot what it was like to be cold.”  
  
Haru almost smiles at that, closing his eyes to relish in it. There was a CD in the player; the violins are laced with static but they’re cheerful. Listening to a song is surreal after being without for so long, and Haru doesn’t even care that he hated this type of music back when he had the privilege of preference.  
  
He doesn’t know why he cares, doesn’t know why the hell he’s asking, but, “Will your friends come back for you?”  
  
“Yes,” Makoto answers without a doubt. “If they –” He clenches his fists.  
  
If they’re still _alive,_ they’ll come back for him.  
  
After a while, Makoto dozes off and Haru really needs to slip out of the truck as soon as possible. Neither he or Makoto want to admit that Asahi and Kisumi were shot down and are probably already wandering amongst the undead. Leaving Makoto out here to fend for himself while he’s wounded with barely any food or water, _no bullets left –_ if Haru leaves him, Makoto’s death will be certain.  
  
His temples ache with frustration. Conflict. This is why he never fucking messes with groups.  
  
Well, he had wanted to stop traveling for a bit anyway, so he ventures out of the truck to build a fire on the roadside. A few corpses pause to stare into the flames, but they look straight through Haru whenever he walks by them to boil the rain water he scavenged this morning. Haru’s come to appreciate their company over time; they’re the only type of people who don’t expect him to talk back.  
  
He puts out the small fire once the water is cured and slinks back into the truck just as Makoto stirs. Haru takes out a few plastic containers and Makoto scrunches his nose, licking his lips. “What’s that?”  
  
Haru hands him a twig turned skewer and Makoto sniffs the meat – dog isn’t anyone’s first choice, but the meat is cooked, preserved well, and that’s all that matters now. However, Makoto still hesitates and Haru shakes his head as he chews. “Don’t think about it.”  
  
Makoto sighs and ends up eating every bite.  
  
Haru nods to the backseat. “Your friend dropped his revolver and that diaper bag.”  
  
Makoto perks up at that. “They’ll definitely come back, then.”  
  
He doesn’t respond, his pitying glance hidden in the darkness of the cab.  
  
Night falls on the highway and so does exhaustion, but Haru doesn’t dare to even blink too long. He’s made the mistake of falling asleep beside a big man before. He’d thrown himself to a pack of wolves before he ever makes that mistake again.  
  
Makoto looks him over cautiously. “You can go to sleep if you’d like. I can keep watch.”  
  
Haru shakes his head as breezily as possible. “I’m fine.”  
  
Makoto glances over his worn features, face tightening with concern. “I know you want to get out of here. You can go, you’ve done more than enough for me –”  
  
Haru snorts and rolls his eyes over to him. “Then I’ll have wasted that antiseptic for nothing.” He nods at Makoto’s bandaged thigh and despite everything, Makoto smiles. Haru doesn’t return the gesture but he finds his shoulders dropping from their tense line. “I’ll wait with you until morning. If your friends are back by then… I have medicine I can leave you for the baby.”  
  
When he’s met with stunned silence, Haru turns and his breath punches out of him when he finds Makoto’s eyes wide and red-rimmed. His voice is a hollow gasp. “You’ve got – you have medicine?”  
  
Haru almost can’t bear being looked at with such genuinity. “Not a lot, but there’s some stuff for allergies...”  
  
Makoto’s mouth falls open and he sits up. He wipes his eyes to steel himself. “I’ll give you anything if you’ll really leave it.”  
  
Haru knows the look Makoto’s giving him – he’s seen people offer themselves up in every way possible: mentally, to divulge any knowledge they have on surviving; bodily, whether that be for sex or as a food source. Makoto’s looking at him like he’s offering all of the above and worlds more.  
  
Haru just shakes his head. “I don’t want anything from you. Or anyone else.”  
  
Makoto blinks. “Do you really just want to be alone that badly?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
His brows jump, considering. Then he chuckles. “I envy you for that. I never could stand being by myself. But now, it’s like –” He shudders. “I couldn’t do it.” Absently, he runs his fingers over the steering wheel with a distant look. “Too much time to think.” He sighs. “Even though everything changed four years ago, I remember everything _before_ so clearly.”  
  
Haru’s stomach drops. “Four years?”  
  
Makoto frowns at him in confusion. “Yeah, it’s been four years since the infection started to spread.”  
  
He wavers. Darkness pulses at the edges of his vision. He thought it had only been a year. “Fuck,” he breathes. Maybe he’s more crazy than he thought. Probably. Definitely.  
  
Makoto’s eyes fall half-lidded with pity, then he plasters on a smile. “Well, it’s not like it really matters anymore, yeah?” He gives a self-conscious shrug. “I just like to keep up with things like that.”  
  
Haru stares down at his hands, which are creased with Makoto’s blood, bandages wrapped tight around his broken pinkie. “How many days of summer are left?”  
  
Makoto grabs a notebook from his backpack and thumbs through it. “Eighty-five.” Haru thunks his head back with a doomed groan and Makoto laughs. “What?”  
  
“It’s already so fucking hot.”  
  
“Better than winter, though.”  
  
“Not as good as fall.”  
  
Makoto grins as he puts his notebook back up. “Spring is still my favorite, actually. I get excited when the flowers come back.”   
  
Haru gives him an incredulous look for caring about such a thing, but then a memory shakes him to his core. Spring used to be his favorite time as well; that’s when the neighborhood pool opened back up.  
  
A melancholy harmonica plays from the CD drive as Makoto dozes off once more. Haru watches him in disbelief, not understanding how a complete stranger could have such faith in him. Makoto trusts too easily; that’s a given fact.  
  
Out of sheer boredom, Haru studies him. Makoto looks about Haru’s age, maybe a few years older, but the apocalypse has a tendency to age people by decades. There’s creases of wariness bunched at his forehead but there’s also laugh lines around his mouth. His lips have a natural peachiness to them even though they’re scarred over from being chapped. The contours of his cheeks and jaw are strong despite that his features themselves are soft, still plump with just enough life. He’s tan from years of traveling under the sun, his arms burly from carrying deer over his shoulders. There’s a scar through his brow and one down each wrist. His hair is hazel under his beanie and his wide knuckles are wrapped in black, nasty band aids. A slash gapes through his t-shirt and Haru notices more ink across his pectoral, over his heart. He realizes that Makoto still looks – relatively normal, like himself, whoever that used to be.  
  
Haru pulls down his sun visor to look at himself in the little mirror and startles backward. In a daze, he runs his fingers over his face – gaunt, pores black with dirt, his nose sharper than he remembers. Sweat is creased at his eyelids, his lashes crusted with dried blood from cutting rabbits open. His hair used to be a rich, saturated black, but now it’s matted with dust, the ends slashed at uneven angles from impromptu haircuts with a knife. He looks downright ugly, he looks – he looks every bit like he’s been alone in the wilderness for four years.  
  
He almost forgot the sinking feeling of self-consciousness and slaps the sun visor closed. There’s nothing he can do about it and he’s not going to waste water on washing his face, but –  
  
He glances at Makoto, who still sleeps with half a smile, content and warm despite everything else. Haru’s heard that friends will do that for you.  
  
His exhaustion gets the best of him and passing out while Makoto’s asleep is Haru’s safest option, so he closes his eyes and drifts.  
  
He jerks awake at a scream and he’s clutching his knife before his eyes even open. Makoto’s bolted up and heaving over the steering wheel with the fright of a child all over him. Haru glances out the windshield and every window before he realizes what happened and sheepishly sheathes his knife back in his calf holster. With awkwardness tangled in his words, he mutters, “Did you have a nightmare?”  
  
Makoto’s eyes fall closed as he struggles to catch his breath. “Yeah.” He grimaces in shame. “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Haru says before even thinking about it. Makoto looks so heartbroken that he can’t help but keep talking. “Do you… need to talk about it?” Haru would never open up about such personal feelings – or anything else for that matter – but if there’s anything he’s good at, it’s being quiet – he can listen.  
  
Makoto crumbles with grief, tears dripping off his nose in the silence. “It was my sister.”  
  
Haru understands. “A memory?”  
  
Makoto parts his trembling lips before he rolls them in to bite down on them. He nods. “I miss her,” he croaks hopelessly.  
  
There’s people Haru is morally _supposed_ to miss, but he doesn’t. Still, he can’t help but feel Makoto’s anguish when it’s coming off him in waves. “I’m sorry,” he fumbles.  
  
Makoto sniffles and wipes his face, his smile quivering. “Thanks –” His mouth stays open on a name he doesn’t know.  
  
Haru accepts the sensation of defeat. “Haru.”  
  
Makoto’s eyes blink a little wider. “Haru,” he repeats, voice lighter. For some reason, hearing someone else say his name feels very exposing. “It suits you.”  
  
He makes a face at that and Makoto gives a weak chuckle. He takes a few minutes to compose himself, sniffling all the way, then hesitantly asks, “Do you have nightmares too?”  
  
“No. I don’t sleep deeply enough.”  
  
Makoto gives a self-deprecating smirk. “Maybe I should try that. Tsukushi keeps us up most nights, so I guess I just try to sleep as much as I can, otherwise.”  
  
He knows Makoto definitely isn’t going to fall asleep again, therefore, Haru can’t either. He represses a sigh, half-annoyed, but also faintly sympathetic. Knowing that Makoto can’t stand silence, Haru speaks on the first thing that comes to his mind. “How old is he?”  
  
“Almost one! Well, seven months, but it’s close.” Makoto perks up much more. “We won’t be able to do much for his birthday, obviously, but I found him this little toy bear at a grocery store while we were scavenging. He seemed happy about it.”  
  
Haru hides a smile in his scarf. “How old are you?”  
  
“Twenty-four. You?”  
  
He thinks. If the infection started four years ago, then – “Twenty-one.” His chest pangs at the realization.  
  
“I was at college in Tokyo when… everything changed.”  
  
It takes Haru a while to remember that far back. “I was home in Iwatobi.”  
  
Makoto gives a delighted gasp. “Are you serious?! I’m from Iwatobi too!”  
  
He cranes back. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah,” Makoto laughs with all the happiness in the world. “Wow, I can’t believe that. I’ve probably seen you around town before.”  
  
Haru shrugs. “Maybe.”  
  
Makoto looks beside himself with excitement. “It’s almost like finding a familiar face out here, you know?”  
  
Haru nearly forgot what it was like to feel warmth in his cheeks. “I guess so.”  
  
“Asahi and Kisumi are from Tokyo, but I didn’t meet them until three months ago.” His voice falls softer. “They had a bigger group once. Family. I had been in college for teaching – elementary level – so you can probably imagine how happy I was to find out they had a baby with them.” He hugs his arms around himself. “My siblings had been… young. So I think it helps me, taking care of Tsukushi. Have you ever travelled with a group?”  
  
“Once.” Never again.  
  
Makoto blinks at the haunted look on Haru’s downcast face. Empathy warms his voice. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for whatever reason.”  
  
Haru shakes his head stubbornly. “I’m not. I’m better this way.”  
  
In a flash of blind courage, Makoto asks, “Are you?”  
  
Haru’s breath hitches and he turns away from Makoto’s knowing stare. He gazes out at the wandering undead with a sense of lost all hollow in his throat. “I’m supposed to be.” He steels himself. “I have to be.”  
  
Makoto clearly wants to ask why, but he refrains. Instead he says, “If you want to come with us, you’re absolutely welcome to.” Haru’s mouth flies open and Makoto puts out a hand. “I know, I get it, okay? I’m just saying the offer is there, and if you’re trying to get through the city, you can at least admit that going alone isn’t the safest option.” He folds his hands in his lap with finality. “But it’s your choice. And if it makes you happy being on your own, then I won’t try to sway you.”  
  
_If it makes you happy._ How long has it been since he’s felt such an emotion? He wouldn’t even know where to start.  
  
After a few minutes of Haru fighting against his heavy eyelids, Makoto sighs. “Haru, please go to sleep. I said I’ll keep watch.”  
  
“I don’t trust you.” He’s too delirious to care how rude that sounds.  
  
“You wanna give me a chance to prove that you can, then?” Haru glares but Makoto doesn’t falter. “I don’t even have pants on. My gun is empty, Kisumi’s gun is in the backseat, and there’s nowhere I could be hiding a knife, you know that. The only knife in here is the one you have. Hold it while you sleep, I don’t care, just _please,_ rest.”  
  
Haru works his jaw, meeting Makoto’s unwavering stare for a full minute before fuming a sigh of defeat. He works his way into the backseat and presses himself tight against the door with his blade clutched against his chest. Gradually, he rests his temple against the window and lets his eyes slip closed, his knife never once falling slack in his grip.  
  
Haru dreams.  
  
It’s underwater with sunlight streaming through the pool, the taste of bubblegum cotton candy all sticky in his mouth, and he feels free.  
  
It might as well have been a nightmare because Haru wakes up with the most terrible weight of sorrow; he’ll never get such a wonderful feeling back ever again.  
  
The sunrise crests the distant skyscrapers as Haru stretches with a wince, joints popping, legs aching from his toes to his hips. Makoto looks up from his book to smile into the rearview. “Good morning. Did you know that you snore?”  
  
“Do _not,”_ Haru spits, and Makoto smiles wider. He hops back into the passenger’s seat and sheathes his knife, ignoring Makoto’s smug look. He’s relieved that the car is still running, the blast of the air conditioner invigorating him. “Anything happen?”  
  
“Not a thing.” He hushes his voice with a nod at the windshield. “Look.”  
  
Haru follows his gaze to a family of deer sniffing at the asphalt a few lanes over. With vigor alight in his muscles, he scrambles for his rifle and goes through the exhausting process of preparing it. Makoto grimaces in embarrassment and says, “Don’t kill any of the fawns. Or the moms, please.”  
  
Haru gives him a look. “Well yeah, no, not when there’s a buck standing right there.”  
  
He goes to open the door and freezes when Makoto grabs his wrist. He’s been without human touch for years and it startles him, but he doesn’t feel the need to yank away and punch Makoto’s teeth in, either. The man hisses, “Wait, there’s zombies out there.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“The shot will alert them, you can’t –”  
  
Haru pulls back with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t bother them.” He ignores Makoto’s frantic babbling as he steps out onto the highway. He inhales deeply, the air fresh with morning dampness. He feels the weight of Makoto’s stare as he breezes past corpse after grunting corpse, his focus pierced on the buck in the distance. Some zombies lurch toward the herd, revitalized by the aroma of flesh, but most of the zombies are feasting on the deer Asahi dropped, so that gives Haru plenty of open space to take a nice shot.  
  
Haru has to shoot the buck twice, once in the leg and another time between the eyes, but he gets the job done. He drags the body back to the truck and gathers some stray newspapers to build up his kindling in last night’s firepit, and that’s when Makoto peeks open the truck door. He hisses, _“What the hell was that?”_  
  
Haru glances back at him as he works the deer’s stomach open with his knife. “What was what?”  
  
Makoto gapes in disbelief. “Are you _teasing_ me right now?! You know what!” He flinches when a corpse staggers toward him and Haru tosses a pebble at its shoulder to send it crawling elsewhere. Makoto looks on the verge of a breakdown. “They don’t even notice you, what the _fuck –”_  
  
“Please stop talking, I have a headache. Come help me.” Makoto trembles in his seat and Haru’s face softens. “They won’t bother you if you stay close to me. It’s safe, all right?” _Give me a chance to prove it.  
  
_ Eventually, Makoto ventures out of the truck with his empty shotgun ready to whip into any skull. He limps over to Haru and cowers close to him – Haru blushes hard when Makoto presses right into him, clutching his shirt in his big fists. Makoto could crush him like this; he clearly has the muscle to, but even so, he holds Haru gently. Even if Haru relaxes into his warmth, he can’t work like this so he sits back on his haunches, impatiently waiting for Makoto’s inevitable question: “Why don’t they notice you?”  
  
Makoto lets him go and Haru shrugs as he works the knife through the buck’s guts, arms hot with a thick coat of blood. “I don’t really know.”  
  
Makoto drains pale as his eyes fall to Haru’s wrist, where there’s a raised outline of teeth marring his flesh. “You’ve been bitten before?”  
  
Haru nods. “Nothing happened.”  
  
Makoto’s breathing quickens. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”  
  
Haru weaves his knife through ligaments and nerves in perfect contentment. “Keep the fire going when you’re finished.”  
  
He doesn’t throw up, but his hands shake as he follows Haru’s instruction, and his voice is frazzled with astonishment. “Has it always been like this for you? I mean – they look right through you.”  
  
“They’ve never cared.” He sets apart the meat to cook on the fire. “They never want anything I’ve been around. That’s why they’re not interested in this deer or you.”  
  
Makoto visibly reels. “But… but _why?”_  
  
Haru gives him a flat stare and drones, “It’s not really something I’m upset about. Help me put this on the fire and I’ll change your bandages.”  
  
Things fall back to normal after that; Makoto can’t stop stealing amazed glances at Haru, but he eats in silence and that’s all that really matters to Haru. The hoard leaves to chase after the deer herd and he finds some instant coffee in a nearby SUV; he and Makoto pass his flask back and forth to drink it. They keep a watchful eye on the exit ramp toward the city, waiting for the cadence of footsteps, but after three hours, Makoto starts wearing an expression of heartbroken acceptance.  
  
Haru should have left at dawn. He should have left when Makoto was asleep so he wouldn’t have to witness this, but he still can’t find it in him to abandon Makoto. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.  
  
It seems like Makoto will never run out of tears no matter how much he loses. “I hope it was quick.”  
  
He looks at Haru pleadingly and Haru smiles sadly. “I’m sure it was. They didn’t feel a thing.”  
  
Makoto doesn’t even care to smear away his tears as they fall, his head bowed in utter loss. “They always said they wanted to go out together, so –” He takes a shaky breath and nods to himself. “I hope it was like that.”  
  
He won’t stop crying and Haru knows what he needs to do, but he’s cautious. With a deep breath of courage, he carefully lays his palm across Makoto’s shoulders – they twitch under the sudden touch but then Haru rubs back and forth and Makoto leans into the touch, greedy for the hesitant comfort.  
  
Haru offers him a rag from his backpack and Makoto wipes his face, his voice small. “I’m sure you have places to go. I hope you get there. I really, really do, Haru.”  
  
He loses his breath as emotion punches his chest. He quickly looks away from Makoto’s gaze and settles down on the pavement more comfortably. “I’ll hang out for a little while. It’ll take time to divide this meat.” He stubbornly keeps his eyes set on the exit. “I don’t feel like doing it right now.”  
  
He hears the timid smile in Makoto’s voice. “Okay.”  
  
His instincts rear their ugly head at him as minutes turn into hours. Everything in him screams for him to leave so he can fall back into his regular pattern of being alone with himself, but he just can’t bring himself to do it – not when Makoto’s got a laser focus on the exit ramp, not when he’s whispering prayers under his breath and he looks like his world is quietly falling apart.  
  
Haru sighs. “Where will you go, Makoto?”  
  
His words seem to trigger something in Makoto – the realization that he’s truly alone on this planet. With a guttural moan, he says, “I don’t want to go anywhere.” He’s defeated. He’s giving up.  
  
Resolution firms in Haru’s chest and he opens his mouth just as there’s a shuffle of movement from the sea of vehicles.  
  
He bristles and grabs his rifle, heartbeat roaring in his ears. “It’s okay,” Makoto whispers with a hand on his back, useless and comforting all at once. “It’s okay, Haru, just be still.”  
  
He swallows and keeps his gun aimed on the pinpoint of noise. They wait, suspended in dread until they both freeze at a high squeal. Slowly, they look at one another in disbelief.  
  
Before Makoto can even let out a joyous yell, Kisumi rounds a minivan with an axe poised to strike, his eyes darting everywhere. “Shit Asahi, I _know_ he was around here.”  
  
Asahi drags his feet as he follows, slumped over and grimacing. His shot arm is propped up in a t-shirt sling and he bounces Tsukushi on his hip with the other arm. “We’ll find him,” Asahi nods earnestly. “He’s gotta be –”  
  
He looks to the side and freezes to the bone. Absolute stillness falls on the highway. Kisumi frowns when Asahi’s steps fall short and he follows his gaze. Nobody moves for all of ten seconds before Tsukushi gives an excited thrash and reaches for Makoto with chubby fists outstretched.  
  
Kisumi looks like he’s about to collapse with joy, _shaking_ with it. “Oh my God, _oh my God –”_ He and Asahi race forward as Makoto scrambles to his feet and they crush him in a fierce embrace. “Makoto, oh – oh my God, thank God,” Kisumi babbles, openly weeping while Asahi rubs a hand through Makoto’s hair to pull him into a tighter hug.  
  
Asahi rests his forehead against Makoto’s temple, face sunk in relief. Tsukushi chews on Makoto’s shirt where he’s happily pressed between everyone’s chests, and Haru crooks a smile.  
  
They finally notice him and Makoto grins at his friends’ confusion. “Asahi, Kisumi – this is Haru.” He looks over his shoulder at him with a smile that seizes Haru’s chest. “He saved my life.”  
  
Haru barely has time to think of something to say before Kisumi’s sliding down on his knees and hugging the life out of him, overwhelming him with an onslaught of warmth. Haru freezes in shock as Kisumi sways him back and forth, whispering, “Thank you, _thank you_ so much…”  
  
Asahi chuckles at Haru’s shell-shocked expression and hands Tsukushi over to Makoto to let the baby nuzzle sleepily into his neck. “Nice to meet you, Haru,” Asahi nods. “We can’t thank you enough for helping Makoto.”  
  
Kisumi finally lets him go and Haru clears his throat, not knowing what to do with his hands or who to look at. “You’re welcome. I, uh…” He gestures to his backpack. “Makoto said your baby was sick with um, allergies? I have some medicine he can take.”    
  
Asahi blinks dazedly, mouth slowly falling open, and Haru really should have expected the next hug from Kisumi and all the sobs that come with it. Haru just sighs at the ground as he waits for the hug to be over and Makoto laughs, nestling Tsukushi against his heart.  
  
They spend the afternoon sitting around the cooking fire and use the open car hood for shade. Kisumi and Asahi were starving and they ravaged the deer meat like they were rabid while Makoto fed Tsukushi some crushed peas. Haru realizes that caring for a baby during the apocalypse requires a great deal of sacrifice; neither Kisumi or Asahi had touched the food set aside for Tsukushi.  
  
Haru gives them the abandoned diaper bag and Asahi and Kisumi make a team effort of changing him as well as helping him into another jumper, cooing at him in high-pitched voices all the way. Haru doesn’t know how much medicine to give the baby but Asahi takes care of the particular measurements and soon enough, Tsukushi’s knocked out in a Benadryl-induced sleep. Makoto sighs in relief while the baby sleeps across his lap. “I think a few doses of that and a few long naps will do him wonders.”  
  
“Mm, he’s got the right idea,” Asahi mumbles, nearly in a food-coma while he lazes against Kisumi’s side.  
  
“The city’s full of rivaling groups,” Kisumi mentions, absently nuzzling into Asahi’s shoulder and pecking him there. “It wasn’t good that me and Asahi were by ourselves; they seemed to be intimidated by bigger numbers.”  
  
Haru pales.  
  
Asahi yawns and squints at him. “Where’re you headed to, Haru? Got some place to be?”  
  
When Haru doesn’t respond, Asahi opens his eyes more fully, but Makoto simply gives a coy grin. “Haru likes being on his own.”  
  
Kisumi breathes, “What?” He looks petrified at the thought.  
  
Before Haru can curl into himself self-consciously, Asahi says, “Why don’t you tag along for a bit? We’d be more than happy to protect you since you saved Mako, and you can bounce once we get out of the city if you feel like it.”  
  
“But you’re welcome to hang out for longer if you’d like,” Kisumi beams.  
  
Haru’s eyes dart with conflict and end up landing on Makoto’s face. He takes a deep breath. “I – I’ll let you get me through the city. Just because I don’t want to deal with any other groups.”  
  
Kisumi preens happily. “I think you’re really going to like us.”  
  
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Haru snorts, and Asahi howls a laugh up at the sky.  
  
Haru blushes and dares another glance up at Makoto, who smiles shyly at him with so much sincerity that Haru has to look away as warmth curls in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, i really appreciate it! [twitter](https://twitter.com/ohmacbetha) & [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/macbetha)


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